Chapter 7 007

Chapter 7 007

“You talked to him! You used his first name! And you didn’t text me immediately? Chloe, this is a violation of our friendship.”

I clutched the phone between my ear and shoulder, trying to water the new succulent without drowning it. “It wasn’t a big deal. It was a thirty-second ‘thank you’ at his door. That’s all.”

“Details. I need details. What was he wearing? What was the vibe? Was the door open wide? Did you see inside?”

“Sweatpants. Intense-but-apologetic vibe. Door only open a foot. I saw a wall. It was a very nice, grey wall.” I set the little watering can down. “He said he’d try to be less intense. He called it a ‘bad habit.’”

Amanda gasped. “He’s self-aware! That’s a green flag. A huge, waving emerald flag. So, what’s the plan? Reciprocal gift? A muffin basket? You bake him something.”

“I’m not baking him anything. The plant was a nice, closed gesture. A ‘thank you’ closes the loop. We’re even. We can go back to being quiet, non-interacting neighbors until he moves to the penthouse.”

“You’re no fun,” she sighed. “Alright, fine. But my offer for the hotel suite expires in six days. The clock is ticking on your close-proximity romance. Use the time wisely.”

We hung up, and I tried to put the whole interaction out of my mind. I succeeded for about three hours, until I had to take my trash down to the chute at the end of the hall.

I opened my door and froze.

Leo was already there, standing at the chute, loading a large, flattened cardboard box into it. He moved with a quiet efficiency. He hadn’t heard me—my socks were silent—and for a second I just watched. The way his shoulders flexed under his shirt, the absolute focus on the simple task. He wasn’t just putting trash down a chute; he was executing it.

I must have made a sound, or maybe he just sensed me. His head turned, not with a startle, but with a smooth, alert pivot. His eyes found me instantly.

“Chloe.” He finished pushing the box down and dusted his hands off on his jeans. A simple, human gesture that seemed strangely endearing on him.

“Hi. Just… trash.” I held up my small bag, feeling ridiculous.

He stepped aside, giving me clear access to the chute. “All yours.”

I walked forward, hyper-aware of him standing so close in the narrow hallway. I could feel the heat radiating from him, and that scent—clean linen overlying that deeper, stormy note—washed over me again. I fumbled with the heavy metal door of the chute, my fingers slipping.

“It sticks,” he said. Before I could try again, his hand reached past my shoulder. His arm brushed against me, a fleeting, electric contact. He took the handle, and with no apparent effort, pulled the stubborn door open wide. “There.”

“Thanks.” My voice was a whisper. I tossed my bag in, the sound of it falling down the shaft oddly loud.

“You’re welcome.” He didn’t move back. We were standing there, in the dimly lit end of the hallway, closer than we’d ever been. The air felt charged, thick. I could see the individual flecks of darker grey in his irises, the faint line of a scar on his chin I hadn’t noticed before.

He was looking at my mouth.

My breath hitched. This wasn’t a polite, neighborly look. This was something else. Something hungry and completely unmasked. It was the look from the cafe, but without any pretense of public decorum. It was just pure, unfiltered focus.

I should step back. I should say goodnight. I should do anything but stand here, feeling my heart pound against my ribs like a trapped bird.

“Leo,” I said, his name coming out as a question, a plea, I didn’t know what.

The sound of his name seemed to snap something in the air. He blinked, and the intense hunger in his gaze shuttered, replaced by a more familiar, guarded intensity. He took a deliberate step back, putting a full foot of space between us.

“My apologies,” he said, his voice tight, controlled. “The hallway is… confined.”

He was apologizing for the space? Not for the look that had just unraveled me?

“It’s okay,” I managed to say, wrapping my arms around myself. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Chloe.”

I turned and walked back to my door, my legs feeling unsteady. I didn’t look back. I got inside, locked the door, and slid down to sit on the floor, my back against it.

My skin was humming. That look… it hadn’t been scary. Not in the way I’d feared. It had been devastating. It had seen right through me, through my hoodie and my sweatpants and my careful walls, and it had wanted me. Not my polite thank-you, not my neighborly small talk. Me.

And the terrifying part was, for a heartbeat there in that dim hall, I had wanted him to close that distance. I had wanted to know what that stormy scent tasted like.

A sharp buzz from my phone on the floor next to me made me jump. It was a notification from social media.

It was Felix. He’d sent a direct message. A selfie from the team plane, his grin wide and charming. The text read: Tough loss tonight. Could use some of your sunny art to cheer me up. Got anything new?

A week ago, this would have made my whole week. I’d have spent an hour crafting the perfect, flirty reply.

Now, I just stared at the handsome, familiar face on my screen. His message felt like it was from another lifetime. It was light, fun, surface-level. A world of clear rules and obvious plays.

It held no mystery. It held no storm.

I dropped my phone onto the carpet like it was hot, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. What was happening to me?

The quiet of my apartment was absolute, but it was filled with the memory of a look in a dark hallway. A look that promised everything was about to change, and I was no longer sure I wanted to run from it.

I was in way, way over my head.